Member-only story
Disabled Dreams
Handicapped hope and the struggle to stay positive.
I’ve been disabled for as long as I can remember. Pain has been a constant companion. Every day, month, or year is completely different. Some days I can barely stand or walk and some years, I have months of remission. Sadly, I have yet to discover any patterns.
After many years of torturous struggle, I was officially deemed disabled. Which, for me, just meant the beginning of the end. It felt like the final acknowledgment that I was in fact broken. Sure, government assistance meant that I could stop the daily torture of employment and maybe even get to see a doctor or two.
That was an entirely different torture. Doctors are cruel to young people in pain. “I am not giving you pain medication,” is a phrase that I have heard far too often. I never wanted pain medication, I wanted answers, I wanted relief.
It’s funny, I’m actually far more positive now than I ever was, even in more pain and with more limitations. I stopped spending every day dreaming about death. The fantasy of the sweet release of death still floats around from time to time. Thankfully, it is no longer a daily event.
As life slowed down and allowed me a bit of breathing room, I realized something I had been on the precipice of; Life is worth living.
